And Never to Return
by Amorissy
Summary: The road to Zanarkand never seemed so long.  A guilt-ridden, unguarded mind fears the lonely nights most of all.


**Warning: **Spoilers up to and including Luca and the Mi'ihen Highroad. Vague mentions of Auron's backstory, and Jecht's.

**Author's Note: **Labelled as 'incomplete' due to the probable addition of future Auron/Lulu one-shots.

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><p><strong>And Never To Return<strong>

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><p>The highroad was a ribbon of earth bearing them away from the glittering mirage of Luca, the dust of their footfalls the only mark of their passing. By nightfall, when they made camp on the windy, rolling plain, the city, so consuming and vibrant, was but a distant glow on the horizon, fallen ever into the emptiness where some expected never to return.<p>

Auron hoped, dared hope, to never return; he held no love for Luca.

He stood on the promontory of a small hill, his back to one of Mi'ihen's ruins that loomed over the others as they sat by the fire; they'd settled off the road, a small wayside that circled the shatter-stone dome; safe enough for a starless night, the first night – _his _first night. Auron, separated, alone, watched the illumination at the edge of the world they left behind. It was a false sunrise, an empty promise, hollow and echoing with the voices, not of his ghosts, so oddly silent this night, but of his new charges, the innocent, the faithful as they lingered awake, staring into the flames where he could not see.

He had thought it to be easier somehow, resuming this journey as if not absent for ten years past. To take up the mantle of guardian once more, though no legend was he. Spira had told his story many times, and it had grown. It would threaten to swallow him whole before the end. For now, he used it to his advantage; it kept them on the periphery, watching with stolen glances, muttering by the fireside. Tidus showed no such restraint, but Luca had shaken him; his tongue, for now, would keep.

What of the others.

He'd first laid eyes on the five – _five!_ – on the docks as the ferry arrived, rumour and whisper preceding the summoner, the daughter of Braska he'd all but abandoned to such trivial demands as injury and mortality. That the boy had already found her did not surprise him, no. Tidus had merely, blindly, followed the forces that had guided him, perhaps believing in the temptations of coincidence and luck. Now he knew better, finally set right on his feet after floundering in his ignorance in this strange world so different than the one from which he'd been unwillingly torn. Auron was none the lighter for the weight off his soul; many other stories to tell yet, more hurts and the boy would have to face each one head on. Dream life over, kid, time to wake up.

The others.

Yuna, still guarded by the Ronso who'd honoured him; the blitzer with the easy laugh; the quiet mage, barely more than a girl, bound by the shackles of a woman's mourning.

These five – no, they six now – were the hope of this world. Spira; he held no love for Spira, either. The grip of death on land and sea; the darkness lurking in the eyes of all her children.

In another life, with the eyes and heart and arms of the devout, of a faithful man, he'd walked this road, his blade sharp and keen for all its righteous purpose. Had he really climbed the slopes of Gagazet with these tired feet? Had he truly stumbled back, bitter and broken? Tonight, with his aged gaze and singular, cynical outlook, the road to Zanarkand seemed twice as long.

There was familiarity where he stood now, but it did not calm him. More comforting was the ache in his muscles, the dull throbbing that spoke in the archaic tongues of tissue and flesh, songs of the body that he'd long forgotten. For ten years, Tidus had needed no protection; guiding him was a minor annoyance and training him had been a joy but never a challenge. It had stopped once blitzball had taken over the boy's life; to his credit, he hadn't grown soft. He'd done well with the fiends in the stadium, and on the road under the blazing sun, his first true test against the dangers of wilder Spira. Now, here they were, guarding a summoner who'd yet to scuff her boots, and the boy still blundering along without an ounce of understanding, confident in his blade and his misguided intention, still running from the truth of his father's fate.

Zanarkand was all too far.

Auron took a deep breath, the scent of death ever constant in Spira, saturated by the thoughts and prayers of those who breathed the air.

No, he knew; Zanarkand was all too close.

His doubts were not alone that night around the camp. He heard her coming up the hill, the soft shuffle of her footsteps, the metallic chime of her skirt. She kept her distance, filling the sinking doorway with her shadow, a pale hand resting on the lichen that clung to the cracks of the ancient stone. He did not turn to her, did not take his eye off the horizon, rosy-pink under a haze of cloud cover. He waited for her to speak; he would not attempt to guide the conversation when it was she who had sought him out. Silence was his companion in comfort, and he did not send it away easily, if ever willingly.

"You impressed them today," she said; she was steady and cautious with her words, a trait he knew he'd come to admire.

"There was little cause," he said, and after a moment added, "I, too, found myself impressed today."

The mage, this Lulu, sounded skeptical as she replied. "Don't humour. There is still a very long way to go, but less time to learn than they think."

It is a precise observation, and gave him reason to turn toward her, finally force his gaze away from the wash of colour and light on the horizon; he knew then he'd see Luca again, one more nagging hunch that pulled at him in brief snatches all too often. He looked over silver rims, past dark lens to take a moment to study, consider what he had drawn on from watching the mage – all of them – over the course of the day.

Powerful; elaborate, but effective.

"I don't make it a point to humour," he said, watching her shift but not flinch away, as many before her may have done. Had done. "Tidus has improved since last I saw him; he's still impulsive but he'll have to wrest with that on his own."

"He is –" Her sentence fell short at one quick glance from his eye. "He's finally begun to show his potential."

Auron smirked at her concession, well-hidden behind his cowl. He turned back to the horizon; had he expected the view to change? Luca gone, perhaps. The stadium, the people, quick eyes and loud voices and grabbing hands. So much gil, everywhere. No, the lights of Luca still burned. His back was to Bevelle, another obstacle in his path. Ten years since Bevelle, ten years of dragging the burden of failed promise along with every step he'd taken. Braska, Yuna; the boy's mother.

"Tell me of Yuna."

Lulu paused, and long moments had come and gone before she spoke. "Her natural ability is very strong, and her training was –"

He snorted, doing nothing to mask his disdain, about which she was silent and respectful. "I saw enough proof of her training today. Kept in the temple, reading scriptures and repeating her chants. How much time was spent teaching her to defend herself against an armoured charge?"

When she replied, her voice bristled. "As much time spent teaching Tidus to hack away with that sword, I imagine."

"Perhaps." He chuckled, low enough into himself as not to draw her attention. She kept a safe distance and he was not about to encourage her – Spira, in all its reality, overwhelmed him still, and her presence was agonising, radiating with the power she commanded with mere focus. Still, he couldn't quite remember how long it had been since he'd been made to smile, however fleetingly.

"You've watched over her a long time," he said. Here was another who'd taken up his charge, unknowingly tying herself to Spira's deathly cycles. So young she must have been then, ten years past, binding her heart to a girl fated to walk the summoner's path. It led only to Zanarkand, led ever to death. Had he been so different?

"As a sister." There was a rustle then, not of the breeze through the tall grasses of Mi'ihen, but of her skirt as she stepped away from the shelter of the ruined doorway. She did not do so to come much closer to him, but to get away from the wall, from the soft voices and firelight beyond. When he glanced over his shoulder, he could make out the pale column of her throat, her face tipped up to take in the overcast, starless sky. She was not worried about what danced on the horizon, no, her eyes were skyward.

"Well then," he said, returning his gaze not to what troubled him most but to what pained him least, the last vestiges of Luca glowing in the night. "As a sister, tell me of Yuna."

She paused again, and there was a lifetime in the moment of silence, and he could feel it for just an instant, the burning island sun beating down upon bare backed children, the cool evening breezes. And then the mage sighed, and there was a smile in her voice as she began the telling of her stories; the clarity passed him by and he was left on that windswept, grassy plain, the lights of Luca calling to him in the distance.


End file.
